


Daddy

by JohnHamishHolmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drugged John, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Parental Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnHamishHolmes/pseuds/JohnHamishHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Great Game, John is taken to hospital. Lestrade comes to find Sherlock in a wreck.  He relives his parental experience with Sherlock. Not parentlock</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So this is my first published fic. I'd really appriciate reviews and constructive feedback. Also, I own nothing and am not making profit from this.

Sherlock stared at John. He was still crouching against the wall, breathing hard, wincing in pain. He looked bad. Like he would pass out any second. "You ready to go?" asked Sherlock. "Yeah." said John, breathily, and clearly not ready to even stand, let alone walk. He grabbed the edge of the changing stall to help pull himself up. Sherlock wondered if he should go assist him. After all, he just offered to give up his life for Sherlock. It was the least he could do. 

Sherlock offered his arm for John to hold onto. He gripped it tightly, and Sherlock was surprised to find that his hand was steady. John grimaced again, in pain. Most likely his bad shoulder. Sherlock had felt the bomb vest. He knew that Moriarty had specifically put extra weight on the top left side. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Sherlock asked his friend. “I’m fine,” John replied as he fell. Sherlock caught him, looking at his face. He was unconscious, obviously. Sherlock felt the panic seep back into his system. What should he do? Call the hospital? Take him home? Wait for a bit? He pulled out his phone and called Inspector Lestrade. “Sherlock?” he answered sleepily. Anyone else, he would have said something along the lines of “Do you know what time it is?” But it was Sherlock.

Sherlock had met Lestrade one rainy night about five years back. Sherlock had stumbled onto a crime scene, higher than a kite, blurted out the answer to the case and then passed out. Lestrade had taken him to the station. When he woke up and was sober, they realized he was a genius, and a dick. Most of the officers were greatly annoyed by the druggie in their office, but not Gregory Lestrade. Something about the young man interested him. He came from a well-off family, but refused to go home. He had massive intelligence, but wasted his brain away on drugs. Lestrade offered to let him stay with him, if he promised to clean up. Both Greg, whom Sherlock called Lestrade, never finding out his name, and Nancy, his wife, took to Sherlock right away. The never had kids, thinking it would be too difficult with Greg’s job as a detective and Nancy working many evening shifts as a professional chef. But having someone to take care of really was nice for them both. 

The sobering up had not been easy. Sherlock snuck out and did cocaine four times. He very nearly overdosed twice. He had put a huge scare into them when they found him those times. But every night, no matter what they day had brought, Greg would tuck Sherlock into bed like a little boy. Sherlock would always say “I’m scared. This is hard.” And Lestrade would reply “That is why you have us. We are here for you when you are scared.” And Sherlock sometimes would drift off to sleep saying “Thanks, Daddy”. And all of the sacrifices were worth it when he was called “Daddy”.

And now, Lestrade was answering the phone in the middle of the night to hear Sherlock’s frightened voice again. “Moriarty. This time he took John. He’s not blown up, but he passed out. I don’t know what to do.” “Is he breathing?” Greg asked. “Yeah, he is. Not very well. Uneven and shaky. But his pulse is pretty good.” Sherlock responded. Greg could hear the fear in his voice. He hadn't heard that fear in over three years. “Okay, Sherlock. Call an ambulance for him and I’ll come pick you up. Where are you?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to finish this one quickly because I have other stuff I want to post. I hope you are enjoying it so far. This chapter is a tad dry, but the final one will be cute and amazing. I promise. Please leave me some comments or kudos, I really appriciate it.  
> I still own nothing and take no credit for this

Lestrade wasn’t sure what he was expecting. But seeing Sherlock in a wreck as the paramedics lifted his flatmate onto a stretcher was definitely not it. The paramedics pushed John into the ambulance and told Lestrade where they were taking him. He nodded and went over to Sherlock, who was standing in the doorway, breathing hard. His eyes were filled with tears.   
"Hey” whispered Greg. “John’s on his way now. You want to head over?” It was at this moment that he noticed Sherlock was shaking. “Oi! It’s okay, Sherlock. You didn’t hurt him. He’ll be fine.” Sherlock turned and looked Greg in the eye. “It’s my fault. I didn’t see this coming. I should have known Moriarty was planning this.” Lestrade sighed. People thought Sherlock was incapable of caring. Few knew that he actually was the opposite. When he got worked up, he got overprotective. He leaned over and gave Sherlock a hug. Sherlock gave a small whimper. “Daddy, I’m scared.” All of the memories flooded back to them both. All of the moments they had shared together. The times he had overdosed, the time he fell back after staying clean for nearly a month, the day he moved out on his own. Every time they had hugged. The memories swirled through Greg’s mind. After a minute, Sherlock let go and straightened his jacket. “I guess we have to go the hospital.” 

They went to the car quickly. As they drove, Sherlock fiddled with the radio and the air conditioning. He played with the stuff in Greg’s glove compartment until he told him to stop. “I can’t help it. I need a distraction.” “How about you call Nancy and tell her what’s going on?” Sherlock really didn’t want to talk on the phone right now. But he took his phone and sent a text to Mrs. Lestrade. A few minutes later, they were at the hospital. 

They walked in, Sherlock a few paces ahead of Lestrade. They were told by a nurse that they could see John when he was stabilized. “How long will that take?” asked Sherlock. “I’m not sure. But we’ll let you know as soon as we can.” Sherlock thanked her half-heartedly and went to have a seat. Lestrade was flipping through a magazine. Sherlock flopped into the chair beside him. “Please, Sherlock, sit normally.” Sherlock frowned. “Don’t give me that look.” Lestrade was remarkably good at keeping Sherlock distracted. He had lots of practice over the two and a half year span of his cleaning up. “Tell me what you’ve deduced about the people in the waiting room.” Lestrade said. He didn’t ask. If he had asked, Sherlock would have had the opportunity to say “No”.

“The guy down at the end has a girlfriend who was in a massive car accident and is more than likely already dead at this point, the three people with the dyed hair were at a party and their friend’s drink was spiked by a rather vicious women who was interested in him. There is a man whose husband had a heart attack, possibly due to an untreated heart condition, a lady whose son got a concussion, someone’s wife had an unusually high fever and the two blokes at the end are waiting for their friend who was kidnaped, wrapped in Semtex and passed out from pain.” Greg thanked his lucky stars that Sherlock had been quiet. No one looked up. “What can you tell me about that woman’s family history?” These questions continued for an hour.  
“Family of John Watson?” called a nurse, whose nametag read “Rory”. Sherlock and Lestrade stood up. “Yes?” Sherlock said. “Dr. Watson is doing alright. He was in a lot of pain, but we gave him something to help with that. He needs a bit of rest, but he’ll be able to go home in the morning.” Sherlock decided not to point out that it was already morning. ”And his doctor will probably suggest he does some physio on his left shoulder. The previously injured one? Yeah. It’s already got a limited range of motion and it could get worse because of this.” Sherlock grimaced. He was fine with John’s shoulder. He managed it well enough. But when other people mentioned it, he felt uncomfortable. Rory led them to his room. “He’s on some strong medication, so he might be a bit out of it. But he’ll be fine once he has a rest.” Sherlock sighed and opened the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is on drugs and is adorable. Sherlock and Lestrade are amazing. Also, utter cuteness and heart melting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final Chapter! I enjoyed writing this, so I hope you'll enjoy reading it. Just to let you know, this one melted my heart and I hope it does the same for you. MAJOR CUTENESS! Again, I own nothing and get no credit for this.

Sherlock peeked into the room. He saw John, awake, but not fully there, in the bed. He had an IV in his hand. "Painkillers and fluids" he deduced.  
"Dad?" asked John in a scared voice.  
"No, John, it's me Sherlock." His mind whirred. 'John must have been in the hospital at a young age. The painkillers probably triggered the memory. Funny that it didn't trigger the time when he was shot. He would have been in hospital for at least a week after that.'  
"Where's dad?" asked John, sounding even more terrified. Sherlock figured this probably would not be the best time to tell John his dad had been dead for a few years now.  
"Dad is... um..." He saw Lestrade come into the room. "He's right here."  
"Oi! John! How are you doing?" Lestrade walked over to the bed and smiled.  
"Dad!" John relaxed a bit. Sherlock had figured out that John was very shy as a child ages ago. He probably had a bit of separation anxiety, common for introverted children. "See, John, you're fine." Sherlock said, sitting down in the chair next to the bed.  
"No Sherlock. That's daddy's seat." John cried.  
"Sorry, sorry." he said, going to the seat on the other side. Lestrade sat down. "Daddy, I was scared. I hurt real bad. And then I can't even 'member what happened but then I woke up here."  
Lestrade smiled and ruffled his hair. "It's okay, sweetie. You hurt so bad that your body fell asleep. Then Sherlock called the doctors and they took you here and gave you medicine to make you feel better."  
"I don't like it here. I wanna go home."  
Sherlock could feel himself smiling. How did he not know that John was so precious on drugs? He'd have to experiment with this new piece of information one day.  
"You'll get to go home tomorrow. The doctor's and nurses want to make sure you won't hurt anymore." said Lestrade. "Do you feel tired?"  
John shook his head. "I feel scared, daddy."  
Lestrade looked at Sherlock. "Do you remember when you used to say that?"  
"Of course I remember. But I'm not the concern right now."  
Lestrade looked at John. "It's okay. You have us. You don't have to do this alone." John gave a small smile.  
Sherlock ruffled his hair as well. "Try to get some rest. When you wake up, we get to go home."  
John closed his eyes. "I love you daddy. You too, Sherlock."  
Lestrade and Sherlock smiled at one another. "Shame he won't remember any of this when the drugs wear off."  
End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end. Any reviews would be awesome, as I'm pretty new at this.


End file.
